Beyond All Hope
by Hasufel
Summary: During the last battle with Voldemort, Harry manages to disapparate but everyone thinks he is dead...Ginny tries to have faith and not give up on him, while in the meantime Harry struggles to recover from the physical and emotional wounds he sustained...
1. Chapter 1

Beyond All Hope

Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling and will never be J.K. Rowling; I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't have to write fanfiction.

A/N: This story takes place beginning at the end of the final battle with Voldemort; Harry is nearly eighteen.

…it's over, Harry Potter thought numbly. His wand hand shook, and his fingers felt numb as they grasped the smooth wood of his wand…his whole body felt numb…

He couldn't see—his vision was blurred, distorted…but of course, his glasses had been smashed during the duel—the final duel…

Voldemort's dead. Even amidst the haziness of his mind, he was able to hold onto that one thought, and he knew it to be true. The Dark Lord was vanquished, gone forever. But the victory had not come without sacrifice. Charlie Weasley had been killed, and so had Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-eye Moody…Harry had seen them fall. Who knew how many others had been hurt, or killed, while he was battling Voldemort? And he himself was drained, and wounded badly, in body, mind, and spirit. Maybe it would be better to just—slip away…

He had given the magical world their freedom. He owed them nothing. He had every right to let go, to escape from the pain which threatened to consume him…

He was losing his grip on consciousness. If he fell now on the battlefield, some desperate Death Eater trying to escape would find him, and most likely kill him. Maybe it would be better that way.

Ginny, whispered a corner of his thoughts, and his heart flooded with sudden emotion. You have to hold on for Ginny.

This thought seemed to give him a burst of strength he didn't know he had in him. Stumbling, almost fainting, he tried to think of a destination, somewhere, anywhere, as long as it wasn't here…his mind finally fixed on a place, he turned on his heel—

—and disapparated.


	2. Chapter 2

The battle was over. The remaining Death Eaters were either fled or captured, and the battlefield itself was quiet, though debris was strewn all over it—along with the bodies.

Shock was the only thing Ginny Weasley could feel. It was over. It was finally over. Some of the Death Eaters had tried to run away, but others had surrendered; did this mean that Voldemort was dead? And where, amidst all of the wreckage, was Harry?

A group of people were huddled some way off; blindly, Ginny stumbled towards them. They were speaking in low voices, and the first one she heard was blissfully familiar.

"Ron?" she called out in a shaking voice. "Is that you?"

"Ginny!" her brother hurried over to her and wrapped her in a tight hug. "You're alive—you're alive—Charlie—"

"I know," she whispered, tears flooding her eyes. "I saw him when he—you know."

Taking her by the hand, Ron led her over to the huddle of figures, all of whom it was a relief to see alive: Hermione, Fred and George, Neville and Luna, Tonks, Bill…

Even as she tried to muster the courage to ask the question she needed to ask, Hermione met her eyes and Ginny knew that she understood.

"No one's found them yet," she said quietly, and though she tried to keep her voice calm it trembled. "H-Harry or Voldemort."

Mutely, Ginny nodded, but an icy knife twisted in her heart at Hermione's words, and she suddenly found herself afraid, dreading what they would find.

A shout echoed from some way off, and all of them turned to see what was going on.

"The body!" they heard someone call. "We've found the body!"

"Whose body?" muttered Ron tensely, and though he hadn't meant anyone else to hear, Ginny had caught his words and felt as if the uncertainty would suffocate her. She began to run, unsteadily but as swiftly as possible, towards the people who were slowly gathering there. She had to know—she had to see for herself.

Professor McGonagall was standing there, white and shaking; so was Remus Lupin, and several others. Lupin was the one who had shouted out that the body was found, and he looked up as Ginny and the others approached. "He's dead," he said hoarsely. "Voldemort's dead."

Ginny held her breath.

"And Harry?" asked Tonks from behind her.

"Of course, not everyone was killed with the Killing Curse," said Professor McGonagall softly, her voice thick with unshed tears. "There are some who were transfigured, or blasted apart, or—well, there will be some people whose bodies we will never find. We've found no sign of Harry," her voice trembled slightly, "except these." She held up Harry's shattered, broken glasses.

Horror and despair welled up inside Ginny, and, as though from far away, she heard someone screaming, a heart-rending shriek of pain and agony—

--and realized that the screams were coming from her. She continued to scream, even as her eyes flooded with tears which streamed down her face, even though her vocal chords felt as though they were being torn to shreds. She continued to scream until she could scream no more and collapsed on the ground, sobbing into the cool, unforgiving turf until her head felt ready to explode and she couldn't think anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry it took so long to update, life got in the way...you know how that is...  
AndI still don't own Harry Potter, and I'm still not J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 3

Pain. Excruciating pain, and exhaustion such as he had never felt before, were all Harry could feel as he drifted in and out of consciousness. At last his surroundings swam into a vague sort of focus. The moment he opened his eyes, he knew where he was—Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place; and he was lying on the floor, unable to move. In desperation he had disapparated to the first place which had crossed his mind, but, of course, as luck would have it, he had thought of the one place which was sure to be deserted. Ever since Dumbledore's death, the Order had stopped using Grimmauld Place as Headquarters, and it had been vacant for quite some time. Had he not been in so much pain, he would have panicked; there was no one here, no one would ever hear him. No one would come to help him. He was going to die, no matter what he did…

But then an idea managed to form amidst his cloud of pain. Maybe there _was _a way…

"Kreacher," he croaked, choking slightly on the thick dust.

With a whip-like crack, Kreacher appeared at his side, looking the same as ever in his filthy loincloth. "Master called Kreacher?" he said in a falsely deferential voice, muttering under his breath, "oh, my poor mistress, if only she could see Kreacher now—"

"Kreacher," gasped Harry, "Get—Dobby—" and passed out again.

Ginny sat huddled in bed, staring outside as rain pounded on the window. It had been two days since the end of the battle, and by now the word had reached the entire wizarding world that Voldemort was dead. Wizards from all over were celebrating, partying, exalting in their new-found liberation; and of course, Ginny reminded herself, they had every right to celebrate.

The Weasleys and the rest of the Order, however, were in no mood to celebrate. They had been present at the battle and felt very keenly the losses which had been sustained there…several aurors Ginny didn't know had been killed, along with Moody and Kingsley. And then there was Charlie's death…she had to blink back more tears just thinking about it.

And of Harry there was still no sign.

She had cried until it seemed as if all the tears had left her, and only a hollow, empty ache remained. So many good people were gone…and two of them were people she loved dearly.

There was a knock on the door, and she raised her head.

"Come in."

Hermione and Ron entered, followed by Remus and Tonks, who had dropped by to see how the family was doing earlier that afternoon. Ginny hadn't gone downstairs to see them; she hadn't even left her room over the past two days.

"We just wanted to see how you were doing," said Tonks quietly, looking at her with some concern.

"Oh, I'm fantastic, thanks," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She immediately felt guilty—she shouldn't lash out at these people who cared about her. It wasn't their fault that Charlie and Harry were gone…

Remus sighed and handed her a copy of the Daily Prophet. "Just so you know what the official report is," he said dryly. "I know it's painful—but you might want to look at the article anyway. It's actually a very good account of the battle and its consequences—good and bad."

Ginny glanced at the front page. The headline read, _He-who-must-not-be-named Defeated at Last; Harry Potter Missing, Presumed Dead._

Letting the paper fall from her grasp, she looked back up at Remus.

"Isn't there some way he could have gotten out of it alive?" she said desperately. "Couldn't he have disapparated or something?" Even if there was the tiniest ray of hope that he might be alive…

Remus sighed again, running a hand through his hair. He looked very worn, and very pale, even though it wasn't nearly time for the full moon yet. But then, the last several days had taken their toll on all of them. "It is possible," he admitted, and Ginny's face lit up. "But," he went on hastily, "It really isn't very likely. The chances of him being alive after the battle to begin with are slim…then he would have had to have the strength to disapparate, which makes the odds even slimmer. And then, of course, we have no idea where he would have gone; and the chances of our finding him even if he had managed to escape are slimmer still. The world is a pretty big place, after all…" he gave a slightly twisted smile, which didn't reach his eyes.

"I wish there was some way he could not be dead," he continued. "But I just don't see how that could be possible."

"But if there's a chance—even a little one—that he's alive, we can't give up on him!" exclaimed Ginny earnestly. "What if he's hurt, and needs help?"

It was Tonks who spoke this time. "Even if he did escape, Ginny, there's no way we could help him unless he came to us."

"Well, I'm not giving up on him," said Ginny fiercely. "Maybe you don't care about him, but…"  
"Don't say that," said Remus quietly, and his voice was harder and had a hint of anger to it now. "Don't even imply that I don't care about Harry. Just know that this hope is very fragile, and you shouldn't dwell on it. Just because we don't have a body doesn't mean that Harry isn't gone.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said, hesitantly coming over and holding out a box to her. "We thought that you should have this."

"Thanks," she said automatically, taking the box from him.

There was an awkward silence.

"Well…see you later, Ginny," Tonks said, and she and Remus departed.

Glancing at the box, Ginny tossed it aside as Ron and Hermione came over and sat down on her bed; they had been silent during her conversation with Remus, but now seemed to feel that it was time to have their say.

"Lupin's right, you know," Hermione said gently. "The chances of Harry being alive are virtually nonexistent."

"So you're giving up on him, too?" exploded Ginny. "I thought you two were his friends—"

"Ginny," said Ron firmly, giving her a quelling look, and she shut up immediately. "You aren't the only person in the world who cared about Harry. Stop acting like this." He took a deep breath and went on. "We just don't know. The evidence points to him being—being dead. If he had managed to escape and get out of there, someone in the Wizarding world would have found him or heard news of him by now…but nobody's come out and said anything…"

"It's okay to hope a little, Ginny," Hermione said. "The world needs hope. But don't hope such impossible and irrational things that it breaks your heart."

_Easy for you to say, _Ginny thought savagely. _Ron's sitting right there next to you in once piece…_

"Well, Charlie's funeral is tomorrow," said Ron gruffly, trying to mask the grief in his voice. "You are coming, right?"

"Are you crazy?" her large brown eyes met those of her brother. "Of course I'm coming…it's our last chance to—to say goodbye." Pressing her lips together, she managed to keep herself calm and controlled—but it would be so much easier if Ron and Hermione would just go away and leave her alone…

They did, mercifully, and Ginny was left once more to stare longingly out the window, aching with grief for her brother, tantalized by hope that Harry might be alive, and lost in the whirlwind of her own thoughts…


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

This time when Harry awoke, he found he was lying in a bed instead of the floor. Some of the pain had receded, but he still couldn't really move.

A squeal echoed from down by his feet.

"Harry Potter, sir, you is awake!"

"Hello, Dobby," said Harry hoarsely, managing a slight grin as Dobby the house-elf came into focus.

"Harry Potter has been unconscious for two weeks!" continued the elf in his shrill voice, gazing at Harry with his large, tennis-ball shaped green eyes. "Dobby was beginning to think you might not live, sir!"

"Well, isn't it your job to save my life?" said Harry, laughing slightly. Inwardly, though, he felt suddenly cold. He had come close to death then…and he still wasn't wholly convinced that death wasn't better…

A sudden thought struck him. "Don't they need you at Hogwarts, Dobby?"

"One house-elf is not a great loss, Harry Potter, sir," said Dobby with a shrug. "They got on fine before Dobby was there, they is not missing Dobby much at all. Some is saying," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "That Dobby has dangerous ideas."

Harry vividly recalled the reactions of the Hogwarts house-elves when Hermione had tried to get them hell-bent on the idea of freedom, and could easily see how they would be glad to be rid of Dobby.

"Any word from the Weasleys or Hermione or anyone?" he asked. For some reason, he was almost hoping that there wasn't.

"No, Harry Potter, sir," squeaked Dobby. "They isn't knowing if you is alive or not, sir."

"Oh." Harry sat silently for a few minutes. He hadn't even considered that; but of course, what else were they supposed to think? And even supposing he made a full recovery, how could he go back to living a normal life, living among normal people? He had _killed…_

_Don't think about that. Not now. _But then, didn't he have to think about it? Would his friends and the rest of the Wizarding world still be able to face him, now that he was a murderer?

Or was it him who couldn't face them?

"I'm not ready to go back, Dobby. Not yet. Maybe not ever," he said aloud.

"Dobby will stay with Harry Potter!" said the house-elf proudly, drawing himself up to his full height—which still wasn't much. "Dobby will help Harry Potter get well again!"

"Thanks, Dobby. Just don't—don't tell anyone I'm alive, ok? I know it sounds incredibly selfish and horrible to keep everyone wondering…but I'm not even sure I belong in that world anymore. Maybe I won't ever go back. I just don't know."

Soon enough he was able to drift back into sleep, but his rest was uneasy, and somehow he couldn't banish the words _I'm a murderer _from his head.

Ron and Hermione strolled through the garden of the Burrow together, hand in hand. They had traced this path around the garden many times over the summer; having the comfort of each other's presence was the only way they could face the past. Now, however, they needed each other in order to face the future.

Hogwarts had not reopened last year, and in any case Ron and Hermione had gone with Harry to hunt down Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes, so they were returning to Hogwarts for their seventh and final year.

"I just don't know that this is the right thing to do," said Hermione for the thousandth time. "Going back to school…somehow it all seems so tame, and dull, and—meaningless."

"I know what you mean," was Ron's exhausted answer. "But Hermione, we've been through this before, it's best to complete our education so we'll have better chances at finding good jobs. Besides, since when have you found homework meaningless?" he teased gently.

"I don't know if I can face going back there…Ron, we've fought in the greatest magical battle of our era, maybe even one of the greatest ever. And now we're supposed to go back and study Charms and Potions and everything like good little schoolchildren? And besides, this will be our first year there without Harry."

There was silence for a while; they didn't need to speak, understanding what each other was thinking and feeling. Then Ron broke the silence with an abrupt change of subject.

"How's Ginny been?"

"You're her brother! Why are you asking me!"

"Because, if you haven't noticed, she's barely been talking to me, or to anyone!" replied Ron heatedly. "I was wondering if maybe you'd been able to get through to her."

"I haven't talked to her much either, Ron. I do know that she still insists on believing that Harry is alive…but that hope keeps waning with each day that passes. It's been two months. If he really was alive, wouldn't we know by now?"

Ron sighed. "I don't know, Hermione. I just don't know."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Ginny sat on her bed once more, gazing at her packed trunk. It had been a busy summer. She had volunteered to help the Order track down the Death Eaters who had escaped the battle and gone into hiding, and they had caught several of them. She wasn't sure why she had volunteered; she had no plans on becoming an Auror, it was her life's ambition to be a Healer. But throwing herself headlong into danger and keeping herself on her toes had prevented her from brooding pointlessly all summer.

And now, it was almost time to go back to school.

She had been unable to repel the nagging doubts that were beginning to shadow the back of her mind. It had been two months. Perhaps Harry was dead after all…was it selfish of her, to insist on believing that he was alive? Was she insulting his memory by doing so?

But that, she reminded herself hastily, was assuming that he was indeed dead. He still _could _be alive…couldn't he?

The next morning was chaos, as usual; they had all overslept, and mayhem ensued as they all tried to get their trunks together and get ready to leave for King's Cross in time. Somehow, as always, they managed to squeak onto the platform on time—that is, with seven minutes to spare.

"Have a good term!" said Mrs. Weasley, hugging Ron, Hermione, and Ginny tightly. "If you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to send an owl!" She drew back and looked at them all, worry clouding her eyes. "I know this has been hard on all of you. And I'm proud of you for having the courage to go back to school after what happened this summer. Remember—I'm here if you need me!"

Smiling faintly back at her mother, Ginny turned and boarded the train, Ron and Hermione right behind her.

"Well, we'll catch you later, Ginny," said Ron. "Sorry we can't get a compartment with you, but…" he grimaced and gestured to the Prefect badge on his chest.

"Don't worry about it," Ginny replied, giving him the first genuine smile her face had worn since June. "I'm sure they need their Head Girl up there, too."

Hermione shrugged. "I'm just one person, what difference does it make?" she said indifferently. "But we do have responsibilities, I suppose. Life goes on as it always has." She sighed, and waved at Ginny, and she and Ron headed up towards the front of the train, leaving Ginny to find a seat herself.

Slowly, she made her way down the corridor, looking into the compartments. They were all full of laughing, joking students, excited about their return trip to school. It felt odd, standing out there by herself and watching them. Normally she would have been in the center of one of those groups, surrounded by her own laughing, carefree friends.

Before long she came across a compartment full of her old friends. She stood there a moment, uncertain of whether or not to go in, but the decision was made for her. One girl looked up and saw her standing their, and bounded to her feet, yanking the compartment door open. "What are you waiting for? Come on in!" the girl said, beaming at her.

"Hi, Alissa," Ginny responded, feeling more than a bit awkward.

"Come on, sit down!" beckoned Dean Thomas. The eyes of everyone in the compartment were on her as she moved over to a spot between Dean and her friend Kaitlin, and she fidgeted beneath their gaze.

"So how was your summer?" asked Kaitlin brightly.

Ginny's breath caught in her throat—how could they dare to ask? But of course…there was no way they could know she had fought in the battle.

"Okay, I guess," she said nonchalantly.

"Did you hear about You-know-who's downfall? It was in all the papers," said Alissa excitedly. "And Harry Potter's gone, disappeared—nobody knows where…"

"Yeah, I heard about it," was all Ginny could think of to say. She didn't cry, she couldn't even be angry with these people for their ignorance. All she felt was a strange sort of detachment. But Alissa's shrewd eyes met hers.

"You went out with him for a while, didn't you, Gin? Back in fifth year."

"Yeah…I guess I did," she said uncomfortably.

"That's kinda cool," said another of her friends, a girl named Clara. "You can say you dated the person who defeated You-know-who!"

"Clara!" hissed Kaitlin, "Don't be so insensitive! Don't you get it? She dated him and he's _gone!_ I mean, I know you guys broke up and all," she said, turning to Ginny, "But you must have still cared about him. I'm sorry."

"Um…thanks, Kaitlin." It was bizarre, having her old friends talk about it so casually. But Kaitlin's pronouncement of sympathy touched her deeply, and she knew that even though it had sounded slightly insensitive, it had been sincere. Somehow she also knew that Kaitlin's sympathy was the sincerest she would get from her old friends; the others were too shallow to really understand how she had been affected. And then there was Dean, who was eyeing her appraisingly. She wondered suddenly if Dean would want to get back together, now that Harry was no longer there as a rival, and that feeling compounded her discomfort.

"Yeah, that really sucks," said Clara. "But have you heard anything more? The _Daily Prophet _doesn't know everything; have you heard any news about Harry Potter, or gotten more details on You-know-who's death?"

So many people were looking at her with anticipation, Ginny wanted to scream. Abruptly, she stood up. "I'm sorry, you guys," she said, "But I'm supposed to meet someone, so I've really got to go." She made her way over to the compartment door.

"Ooooh, who are you meeting?" squealed Alissa.

"Just a couple friends," was the answer, and Ginny emerged into the corridor, shutting the door behind her.

Of course, there was no one she was meeting, but there was nothing for it now but to continue along the train. Some compartments held other old friends, but she didn't want a repeat of what had just happened, so she passed them by. Finally, she came across a compartment which contained two passengers only: Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.

With a jolt, Ginny realized that they had been at the battle, too…

Without any second thoughts, she pushed the door open and entered.

Neville looked up and smiled at her. "Hi, Ginny."

Luna smiled in her vague sort of manner and said, "Hello. It's good to see you."

"Hi Neville…hi, Luna. Can I sit with you?" she asked hesitantly.

They both nodded, and Neville said, "Of course!" So Ginny took a seat, and spent the rest of the train ride in the peaceful company of the two. They didn't talk much, but there was no need to. They had all been at the battle, and there really wasn't any more talking that needed to be done. Later on, Ron and Hermione joined them, but conversation was still kept to a minimum and most of the trip was passed in silence.

Hours later, Ginny lay in her four-poster, wide-awake and unable to sleep. They had arrived at Hogwarts without incident, but the Sorting and the feast and all had seemed so surreal. Things just weren't the same, and they would probably never be the same again.

_You've got to be out there, _she thought fiercely. _You've got to be somewhere out there. Harry, how do you expect us to live without you?_


	6. Note from the authorthe fic lives!

Note from the author

GUESS WHAT!!! THE FIC LIVES!!!!!

I'm so terribly sorry about not updating in approximately forever. I've been at school for the past eighteen months, a pretty grueling schedule, leaving me almost no time for writing/updating. Plus the lack of consistent, quality internet access doesn't help.

BUT!

I am packing up to go home in less than two weeks, and as I was looking through files on the computer, I found the unfinished document of the fic.

And started writing.

And I'm almost done with it, there's only a few chapters left.

So in two weeks, I promise, the fic will be updated!!!!!!!!


	7. Chapter 6

_A/N: And now, at long last, an update!!!! It was hard to get back into the swing of the story after having taken a break from it for so long, but I tried. Hope you all enjoy!  
Just so you all know, this scene WAS NOT copied from Deathly Hallows in any way, shape or form. This chapter has actually been written for a year now, believe it or not, and though frighteningly reminiscent of a Deathly Hallows chapter (King's Cross), was not influenced by it in any way. When I wrote this, we didn't even have the TITLE for DH yet!  
This seems a good opportunity to remind everyone that I do not own Harry Potter and I am not J.K. Rowling. Though if I was I would be quite rich, and it would be awesome.  
_

Chapter 6

By mid-October, Harry was up and walking about. He had healed well, if not speedily, under the care of Dobby, and he had sent the elf back to Hogwarts since he was now well enough to take care of himself. Unable to bear staying in the house, which only reminded him painfully of Sirius, he had taken to walking about London during the day. There was a small library only a short way away from Grimmauld Place, and it was here that Harry spent most of his time. It felt strange to suddenly be reading books so avidly; that had always been Hermione's domain. But there was something very appealing about losing himself inside a story, blocking out the world, shutting himself away so he wouldn't have to think about it.

But he did think about it, whether or not he wanted to. His dreams kept taking him to the battlefield, reliving the horrors that had happened there. His subconscious, at least, was not going to free him any time soon.

One night, he awoke from a nightmare that had been particularly vivid, and found himself panting, covered in sweat. He didn't bother putting on his new glasses (which he had purchased at a muggle shop in London), but simply lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Was that sweat or tears on his face? He didn't know, and he didn't want to.

Uneasily, he sank back into slumber, but he did not return to the battlefield. He found himself instead walking through a deep forest, which seemed somehow familiar…

It was the Forbidden Forest. Harry looked about him apprehensively; he knew all too well what kind of beings lurked in the Forbidden Forest. The last thing he needed was an acromantula attacking him.

_This is a dream,_ he reminded himself, _Nothing can hurt you here; you'll always wake up and be fine._

But was it a dream? His recent nightmare about the battle had been vivid, but this was more than vivid. This felt real.

_And since when,_ Harry thought suddenly, _have I known I was dreaming while in the dream?_

Uncertain of what to do, he merely continued walking—until he caught sight of a dark form moving through the trees. His hand moved swiftly for his wand, but it wasn't there; the shape was emerging from the trees, coming towards him, and he couldn't stop it—

But before he could panic, he saw that the figure facing him was a familiar one. Tall and smiling, blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles, Albus Dumbledore approached him.

"Well met, Harry," he said, as cheerfully as ever.

Harry's breath seemed caught in his throat. This couldn't be—it just couldn't.

"You're dead," he whispered hoarsely, "I saw you die."

"True," replied Dumbledore gravely. "In the real world, in the physical world, as you know quite well, I am indeed dead. But in the world of dreams…that, Harry, is a different matter altogether.

"Walk with me awhile," he said. It was an order, not a request. "We need to talk, you and I."

So they walked together along the paths of the Forbidden Forest, not speaking at first. Harry was still trying to grasp the oddity of the situation; he had never expected to speak with Dumbledore again, not like this. He felt as if he were back in their lessons, waiting for Dumbledore to impart some valuable advice or information.

"Harry," said Dumbledore at last, "You are hurt, and you are troubled. You have succeeded in defeating the darkest wizard of your time, perhaps in all of history. Many of those closest to you escaped the battle alive. You have narrowly escaped death and healed from all the wounds inflicted upon you. But yet, you hang back. You don't want to return to the Wizarding world, you don't want to see your old friends. Tell me why that is, Harry."

"I can't go back!" Harry blurted out desperately. "Look what I've done—I've done things I can't be forgiven for."

"Do you refer to your triumph over Voldemort?" asked Dumbledore quietly, "or to something else?"

Harry shook his head, trying to form the right words. "It's not Voldemort. He deserved to die, and I'm—I'm glad I was the one to finish him. But he's not the only one—Professor, I—I killed Draco Malfoy." The words came out in a sudden rush. Dumbledore said nothing, merely looked at him. "He came at me from behind…I didn't see him until he tried to hit me with a curse. I didn't have time to think, or to do anything—I just _killed _him. And Professor, I know that the two of us never—er—got along, and there were so many times when I wished that he was dead. But I never wanted to _kill _him, I never wanted to kill anyone! And now I'm a murderer!" Without realizing it, he had raised his voice until he was nearly shouting. "How does that make me any different from Voldemort?" he blurted out in a rush, and as he said the words, despair welled up inside him. He was supposed to be a hero—he had, after all, brought down Voldemort. But how could anyone be willing to accept him after he had done something Voldemort himself would have done?

Dumbledore, though, was looking at him thoughtfully. "I recall telling you," he said, "that it is our choices that make us what we are."

"But it was my choice to kill him—I didn't have to."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Yes and no. Yes, it was your choice to kill him, but you only did so because circumstances drove you to do so. You acted not out of desire to inflict harm, but of a need to defend yourself. The key, Harry, is that you did not want to kill, and you still wish you hadn't. And here, _that _is what makes you different from Draco Malfoy, and even from Voldemort. You did what you had to do, but you will always regret it. Do you think Voldemort ever felt that sort of regret?" Harry shook his head. "Well, there you have it, then. You have no innate desire to kill. You are not like Voldemort."

Harry's head was swimming…it made sense…perhaps he was more guilt-free than he had thought, after all…but he couldn't clear his head, couldn't think straight—

And then he awoke, and he was back at Grimmauld Place, still trying to sort out everything that had happened.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

For the next few days, Harry could think of nothing but the strange dream he had had. Often he caught himself mulling over what the dream-Dumbledore had said—it had all sounded very logical, and very wise, almost as if Dumbledore himself had spoken to him. He remembered back to his second year, when Dumbledore had told him that his choice to be in Gryffindor had made him very different from Tom Riddle. Had his old advisor truly found a way to assuage his fears again?

For the dream-Dumbledore had, somehow, managed to do just that. The conversation he had dreamed continued to replay through his mind, and gradually the iron knot of guilt that sat so heavily and hollowly in his stomach was eased.

Life went on, and he continued to spend much of his time at the library, and hanging about Grimmauld Place. Inaction would have bored him, once, and he would have gone crazy with the urgent need to do something, or go somewhere. Now, however, he was content to lie for hours on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Almost without his realizing it, a feeling of peace and contentment had begun to steal over him. For so long he had been able to think about nothing but the pain, and the guilt. But now that the pain was gone, and the guilt was somewhat lessened, he was able to think clearly for the first time since July. _Voldemort was gone._ The full impact of this truth took some time to sink in…

He was safe. The Wizarding world was safe. The constant threat, the state of never-ending peril, the pall of fear that had enveloped their lives for so long, had vanished the instant he had killed Voldemort. Harry hadn't realized just how oppressive that fear had been, until now that it was gone. He felt lighter, freer—the feeling was impossible to fully describe. It was like being freed from imprisonment.

And then, as October was drawing to a close, came another dream.

He had slipped from a dreamless sleep once more into the Forbidden Forest. He stood there beneath the canopy of an imposing oak, looking around. He was hardly surprised, this time, at finding himself in the same solidly real dream-state as before, and he looked around eagerly, wondering if Dumbledore was coming to speak with him again. Sure enough, a tall, lean, dark figure was advancing towards him, and Harry began to walk forward to meet him—until he realized that it wasn't Dumbledore, after all.

It was as if his thoughts of being freed from imprisonment had summoned the man now walking towards him. Harry felt his heart freeze in his chest—and then remembered the words Dumbledore had spoken in his previous dream: _In the real world, in the physical world, as you know quite well, I am indeed dead. But in the world of dreams…that, Harry, is a different matter altogether._

Sirius Black was loping towards him with an easy grace, a grin spreading over his face at the sight of his godson.

"Sirius," Harry began, and then stuttered to a halt, unsure of what to say.

"Harry," replied Sirius in exasperation, "Don't look at me like that! I'm no ghost. This is a _dream,_ Harry. Anything is possible in the world of dreams!" Pulling Harry into a one-armed hug, he ruffled his hair with the other hand. The gesture was so real, and so familiar, that Harry couldn't help relaxing.

"Sirius," he repeated, his own face breaking into a grin. "I've missed you."

Sirius smiled again, but this time with a hint of sadness. "And I'm sorry," he said quietly, "Sorry that I wasn't a better godfather. Sorry that I wasn't there to look after you like I should have been…"

"Hey," said Harry firmly, "It wasn't your fault. And Bellatrix is dead. Neville brought her down, in the final battle…" His voice trailed off into silence; it was the first time he had spoken the name of one of his friends since the battle had happened. It was as if he had been trying to shut the people he cared for out of his mind. And now he asked himself, _why?_

"So you say you missed me," said Sirius, eyeing Harry with one eyebrow raised. "Hasn't it occurred to you yet that there are other people who might miss _you?_"

The blunt truth of the statement hit Harry so hard he staggered backwards. He hadn't thought about it in quite that light before. But now that it came down to it—

--He was making everyone he cared about, everyone he loved, go through the same agony he had gone through after Sirius' death. He had felt a little guilty about not letting them know that he was at least alive. But he hadn't thought, hadn't _realized_, just what he had done to them all as a result of his inaction.

As he stood there, head ringing, taking in the full implication of the pain he was causing, Sirius backed away into the darkness beneath the trees. There were two more people Harry needed to see tonight, and now seemed an opportune moment to fetch them.

_Ron and Hermione,_ thought Harry bleakly, _What must they be going through? And Remus and Tonks, and Neville and Luna…all of the Weasleys…and _Ginny._ Oh, God, what have I done to Ginny?_

He sank to the leaf-strewn ground, gripping his hair, allowing the guilt-ridden thoughts to wash over him. The walls he had been holding them off with were crumbling, and he was defenseless.

_Just because I couldn't face them, I assumed that they wouldn't be able to face me. Because it was _me _I thought about, I caused all this hurt, all this suffering. Enough families have been torn apart by Voldemort; now I've helped tear the best family I've ever had._

And then, as he sat there on the ground rocking back and forwards in a manner very reminiscent of Dobby, he felt arms surrounding him, loving arms, and he looked up into the faces of his parents.

"Harry," said his father softly, "We are so proud of you. You have done everything anyone could possibly have expected of you. And it was inevitable that you would come out of this whole affair bearing scars of some sort."

"But now it's time to stop thinking about the past," his mother continued kindly. Harry stared into her deep forest-green eyes, a reflection of his own. "It's time to think instead about the future. Harry, we died because we loved you, and we wanted you to be able to continue to live your life. So don't stop living, just because of what has happened. There is a life worth living for, sweetheart. Life is _so _precious…as extinguishable as the flame of a candle. No one ever knows how much time they're allotted, how long they have to enjoy the beauty and the glory of the world. Every day, Harry, every sunrise is an invaluable gift. Treasure it, my son. Treasure it always. Live your life like there is no tomorrow—because you never know if tomorrow is going to come or not. Surely the war with Voldemort taught you that?"

Harry looked up into their kind, loving faces—James and Lily Potter, and Sirius Black, all gazing down at him with affection. They were right. It was time to remember what living was…"

In echo of his own thoughts, Lily whispered, "It's time, Harry!" And all three of them placed their hands on Harry and pushed him forward—

--And he found himself flying up in bed, staring wildly around him. Moonlight was streaming in through his high window, and everything was dark and quiet about him.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ginny sat in her usual corner of the Gryffindor common room the week before Halloween, head bent over a parchment she was scribbling on furiously for Defense Against the Dark Arts. It was funny, she mused, that up until her fourth year, she had never really been too keen on the subject—even when the subject had actually been taught by competent teachers. But ever since she had joined the DA, and truly learned what defending oneself entailed, and experienced firsthand just how crucial self-defense was, she had become much more keen on it. This year was even worse; her studying of Defense Against the Dark Arts amounted almost to an obsession.

_It's not even like I want to be an Auror,_ she thought wryly. _I just study DADA so hard because—well, I guess because it reminds me of Harry…_

Harry: the subject that she'd been working so hard to get her mind off of for the past two months, ever since her return to school. She sighed, pushing her parchment away from her and staring over into the mesmerizing flames of the fire.

Being back at Hogwarts still felt incredibly surreal. After everything she had seen during the battle, after everything she had done, and all the pain she had gone through at losing her brother and presumably Harry, returning to a normal life felt discordant, somehow. There was a time when she had been a very popular girl, always in the midst of a group of laughing, happy people. This year was markedly different. She spent most of her time alone, and what little socialization she took part in was usually with Neville and Luna. She found, though, that she truly didn't mind. The pain of losing Charlie, and of losing Harry—

--_It's not certain that he's lost—_

--was still present, but not in the forefront of her thoughts anymore. She was trying very hard to continue to live her life. It would have been so easy to just drown in the pain, and the despair. But every time she felt this hopelessness creep up on her, she couldn't help but think of Charlie.

Charlie, with his wide grin and broad, laughing face. Tanned from being outside all the time, living life on the edge through his work with dragons—Charlie had known what living was. How could she, his sister, not enjoy and delight in life as he had? To not do so would be an insult to his memory.

_But I'll never fully delight in life without Harry…_said a small, treacherous voice in her mind.

"These thoughts are irrelevant," she growled aloud to herself. "I'm not the only person who's ever lost someone they loved."

_But you don't know that he's lost, _reminded the voice. _He could still be out there. You don't know._

No, she didn't know. Logic pointed to his being dead. But while that one small voice continued to nag at her, while one small part of her continued to hope even when hope seemed non-existent, she couldn't just forget him.

Her musings were interrupted by a voice behind her.

"Hey, Ginny. Can I talk to you a minute?"

It was Dean. Ginny cocked an eyebrow at him, somewhat peeved at his presence. He had been hovering around her like an irritating shadow for the last few weeks, and whenever she tried to confront him and ask him what he wanted, he seemed to disappear.

"Well?" she asked bluntly. She knew she was being rude, but she had a sinking feeling that Dean was about to ask her out, and she was not in the mood to deal with it. She had tried to show him gently that she was uninterested, but the trouble with men is that they never seem to take gentle hints. It takes nothing short of a figurative sword-thrust through their heart to make them understand what "NO" means.

"Well, Ginny," said Dean nervously, twisting his hands a little, "You know this Saturday's Halloween, and there's a Hogsmeade visit and everything, and I thought maybe you'd want to go with me and then we could go back up to the feast together—"

"No."

Dean sighed and reached out as if to touch her arm. Ginny flinched away, exasperated. _Does he never give up?_ she wondered.

"Ginny," he continued hesitantly, "I know last summer was tough on you, but it's over, alright? It's time to move on. If this is about Harry, you two broke up right after Dumbledore's funeral anyway—"

"Dean," replied Ginny, enunciating each word with painful clarity, "I am not interested. I am not the least bit attracted to you. I have no desire to date you again. It was apparently a mistake to go out with you in the first place. Leave me alone, and I never want to see your stupid, ugly face again."

Dean reeled back as if he had been slapped in the face. It took only a moment, though, for anger to settle in over his normally friendly features.

"This IS about Potter, isn't it?" he hissed furiously. "You still think he's coming back and is going to want you. Well, here's a newsflash for you. Potter's _dead_. You're a damned fool for thinking any differently! And I don't waste my time on idiots!" He turned and stalked away, not looking back once—undoubtedly off to nurse his wounded pride.

Ginny bit her lip, feeling the first hint of remorse. She hadn't meant to be so bluntly rude, but he had been irritating her so much, and she was just so sick of it all…

Was Dean right? Was she just being a fool?

"What do I follow?" she whispered, staring into the crackling fire once more. "Do I follow what my head tells me, or what my heart wants to be true?"


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Two days after his last dream, Harry stood in front of his mirror at Grimmauld Place, gazing at his reflection as if hoping it would give him some advice. His reflection, however, continued to show the same turmoil and uncertainty written on his own face, and didn't offer any words of comfort.

He had been hiding away long enough. His mother, father and Sirius had been right. Dumbledore had been right. It IS our choices that make us who we are.

He had chosen to pick up the threads again, and begin truly LIVING again, instead of merely existing.

But the most difficult choice yet lay before him—what path should he take?

Should he go back to the Wizarding world? Magic was such an integral part of him; how could he even consider living life without it? Besides, there were people there that loved him. People that he loved.

People that he had hurt.

This was what had him twisted up into knots. It had been four months since he had been in contact with any of them. Not since the night of Voldemort's downfall had anyone seen or heard from him. He couldn't just assume that they would all wait around for him to come back, especially not if his return seemed tremendously unlikely. They would all have moved on by now. Would his return disturb, more than it would help? Would it hurt, more than it would heal?

Perhaps it would be better, to send a message gently letting them know that he was indeed alive, but had chosen to return to the Muggle world. Or even to conjure up some sort of definite evidence that he was dead. Just to leave things as they were, and not risk harming or disturbing what his friends and family had probably worked so hard to rebuild after the losses sustained during the battle.

He could certainly earn a living doing cheap magic tricks. A traveling magician, if you would. Muggles would love him. It would be so convincing, wouldn't it…almost as if he was doing real magic…

It would be so easy. So easy to just slip into anonymity, with no attachments, and no risk of hurting anyone else. And yet, it would be incredibly hard to live without the world that had become so much a part of him.

And then again—didn't he owe those he loved an apology for what he had put them through?

_Dumbledore, _he thought wistfully, _It's all about making the choice between what is right and what is easy. But how do I know that the easy course isn't the right one?_

Night had fallen on Grimmauld Place, as Harry looked out of the window into the chill darkness of the streets of London. Finally, at long last, he had made his decision. Tearing himself away from the window, he began making preparations. The time had come for action.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Halloween turned out to be freezing. Cold wind gusted around the students as they made their way back from the village of Hogsmeade, and snow was falling thick and heavily. Unusual weather for Halloween, but not unheard of either. It just seemed as though winter was on it's way a bit earlier than usual this year.

Ginny had been sitting in her dormitory all day, watching the flakes fly past the window and listening to the chill rattle of the wind as it swept around the castle. At last the exuberant noise in the common room announced the return of most of Gryffindor House from Hogsmeade, which meant that the feast would be starting soon. Though not in the mood for Zonkos' jokes or Honeydukes sweets, Ginny was not about to neglect the feast; despite her inactivity, she was positively starving.

With surprising energy for someone who had been lazing about all day, she vaulted from her bed—and smashed her foot against the lid of her trunk, which was ajar.

Cursing with enough enthusiasm to make a sailor blush, she immediately sat right back down on the bed again, nursing her sore foot and glaring at the offending trunk, which lay open before her.

The glare was only instantaneous. Curiosity replaced it quickly. There was a small parcel sitting in her trunk, one that she didn't recall putting there. Picking it up, she realized with a jolt that it was the package Remus had given her months ago, back in the summer. Rather guiltily realizing that she had never opened it, she tore at the wrapping and opened the box inside to see what it contained.

It was Harry's glasses, smashed almost beyond recognition.

The box tumbled from Ginny's numb fingers, and she gasped for breath.

Harry's glasses.

Somehow, the sight of them seemed to impress upon her that it had been four months. Harry was gone, truly gone. He was never coming back…

_But there's no proof! _Insisted the devious voice in her head.

"No," Ginny answered aloud, shaking her head in denial, "I don't have to listen to you anymore!"

Rising to her feet, she found that she was trembling. Thoughts of the feast had completely flown from her mind. She dashed downstairs and through the now-deserted common room, and made her way blindly down to the entrance hall and out the front door. She continued to run until she had nearly reached the shore of the Black Lake, and then collapsed in the snow, sobbing for breath and shaking with cold; she hadn't thrown on a cloak.

But she didn't care. If she was cold, then she couldn't feel the icy emptiness inside of her which threatened to consume her.

EXCEPT FOR THAT DAMNED VOICE! It kept on barraging her with doubts, nagging at her to believe Harry was alive.

"NO!" she shouted, into the darkening twilight air. "I TOLD you I don't have to listen to you anymore!" For a split second she wondered if she was going crazy, speaking to voices in her head that probably didn't exist. And then she realized that she didn't care. With that realization, she began to laugh hysterically, sobbing simultaneously, tears running down her face and freezing soon after they fell.

When she was finally able to calm herself down slightly, she wiped at her face and repeated aloud, "There's no proof. You're right. Is it too much to ask for a little bloody proof so I can tell this voice to shut up and leave me alone?!"

She continued to sit in the snow, still shivering uncontrollably, watching as the twilight faded into night around her. The sky was still overcast, and flakes of snow continued to drift down, settling on her hair and on her robes.

Footsteps crunched on the snow behind her. Ginny didn't even bother to turn around.

"Leave me alone," she said in a deadly calm voice that could have stopped an army in its tracks. "I don't care who you are, I just want you to go away. NOW."

There was a silence behind her, but no sound of departing footsteps. Ginny was on the verge of turning around and hexing her intruder, when a voice spoke hesitantly from out of the darkness behind her.

"Ginny?"

Then she did turn, rising tremulously to her feet, certain that she had progressed to full-scale hallucinations. She was only able to register the identity of the intruder before she found herself falling back into the snow in a dead faint.

It was Harry.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Ginny awoke slowly and drowsily, and the first fact she registered was that she was warm. She was lying on what felt like a soft and cushy couch, with a warm blanket tucked snugly around her.

The environment didn't seem familiar, though. "Where am I?" she murmured drowsily, not really expecting an answer and not really caring.

Therefore she was somewhat shocked when a voice responded from across the room, "Room of Requirement."

That voice…the memory of what had just transpired rushed back in upon her. She flew up, sending the blanket flying and stared wildly around her. There, sitting in an armchair next to a small, crackling fire, was none other than Harry himself, looking anxious and concerned.

"Harry," she whispered, tears starting in her eyes. "Are you real?"

A tiny, tremulous smile appeared on Harry's lips in answer. "Yes," he replied simply, "I'm real."

"Can I—" her voice broke. "Can I have a hug?"

It took two strides for him to cross the room, and then his arms were around her, just as they had encircled her so many times before, and she buried her face in his shirt and cried. It was as if all of the pain, anguish, and uncertainty of the past few months had been let loose in a torrent, and she was unable to hold it back anymore. Harry said nothing, just sat there and held her, stroking her hair gingerly with one hand and waiting for her sobs to cease.

At last she quieted, having no idea how long she had been crying for. She lay quietly within the circle of Harry's arms. The position was so heartbreakingly familiar, and felt so real. It was like coming to life again, as if life had been passing by in a dream, and only now had she finally awoken once more.

So many questions, though. Where should she start?

"Why here?" she murmured quietly. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Well," replied Harry somewhat sheepishly, "I didn't know the Gryffindor password. And I didn't want to see everyone else—not until I'd seen you and talked to you first."

Ginny digested this for several long, peaceful minutes. And then she had to voice the question that was burning away at her.

"Why?" she asked simply. "Why didn't you come back?"

Harry exhaled slowly. "I was afraid," he admitted at last. "A poor trait for a Gryffindor. I couldn't face what I'd done, couldn't face myself, and since I couldn't face me I couldn't bring myself to return to all of you."

Ginny looked quickly at his face, and with a slightly sinking heart realized that she knew the expression he was wearing. It was his Determined expression. He was screwing himself up to do something that he really didn't want to do—which, she fretted, couldn't possibly bode well for her.

He continued without pause, as if to pause would be too much and he wouldn't be able to go through with what he was saying. "I was unfair to you. To all of you, really, but especially to you. I didn't think about the pain I was causing, about how hurt the rest of you must be feeling. All I was thinking about was myself, and how miserable I was feeling. I came here to apologize."

He pulled away from her, and Ginny sat up looking desperately into his eyes.

"I had no right to do that to you. It took the advice of people far wiser than me to make me even see what I had done, and even more to convince me to take action. I'm a coward, and my selfishness has caused you more harm than good. I'm sorry, Ginny. I really don't deserve you. Any of you. It was a mistake to come back, I realize that now. Just know that I'm sorry, and that I wish I could have been a better person—because you deserve only the best, and someone who won't hurt you. Ever."

And he rose quickly to his feet, obviously steeling himself to walk away.

"Harry!" she cried after him in a strangled voice, clutching at his hand and not letting himself turn away. She leaped to her feet, her brilliant red hair cascading down her back and her soft brown eyes on fire.

"Don't go. Don't you dare walk out of my life again. I will make the decision as to who I deserve, thank you very much. And you haven't listened to what I have to say yet!" She realized she was crying again, and didn't care.

"Don't you remember what I told you, after Dumbledore's funeral? _I never gave up._ I never gave up on you then, Harry, and I never was willing to give up on you now! For the past four months, everyone has been trying to convince me you were gone, you were dead, you weren't coming back. And I just could not believe them. Part of me continued to wait, continued to doubt, and to wonder, despite all logic pointing to the contrary. _I have been waiting for you to come back, Harry._ And now that you're finally back, you're going to try and leave again? I don't bloody well think so!" She took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye.

"I love you, Harry," she said simply. "Without you, it was as if the world didn't matter anymore. Having you back is like—being alive again. I need you, Harry. Don't leave me."

Harry stood looking back at her, speechless. Then without another word, he wrapped his arms around her once more, bent down, and kissed her.

It was like coming home. She had kissed Harry so many times in the past…but now, it was as if a missing piece in the puzzle of her life had finally snapped into place. This was right. This was how life was meant to be.

She melted into his embrace, rejoicing in the feel of his lips on hers, on his being so very warm, and real, and alive right there with her.

"Ginny," Harry said hoarsely when they broke apart, "I love you. And I'm sorry for everything."

"I think I'll manage to forgive you," responded Ginny teasingly, "As long as you swear to never leave me again."

"Never!" he replied, and kissed her again.

_A/N: No, this is not the end! I have still not quite finished it, but will update when I do. And no, it won't be another eighteen months, I promise! There should be one, possibly two more chapters. Hope you all enjoyed it so far!_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 12

_A/N: Last chapter! And I am soooo sorry about the wait, life has been unbelievably crazy these past few months. _

It seemed like an eternity of bliss that Harry and Ginny remained in the Room of Requirement, reveling in the mere presence of each other. But at long last, Harry said hesitantly,

"I guess it's time to tell the others now."

Ginny nodded, slowly. "They should all be down at the feast, still," she replied with a grin. "That could make a really big entrance, you know—just barge right into the Great Hall in the middle of the feast!" A sudden thought occurred to her, and she began to giggle uncontrollably.

Harry stared at her, obviously perplexed. "Gin?" he asked hesitantly. "Would you mind sharing what's so funny?"

Ginny laughed still harder at the confusion on his face. "Harry, it's Halloween!" she choked. "If you walk right into the middle of the feast, the entire school is going to think you're some kind of apparition, or ghost, or practical joke or something!"

"It's not really that funny!" Harry protested, but couldn't suppress a smile. The smile quickly faded though, and he asked more seriously, "Do you really think that's what they'll all believe?"

"Don't worry," she said gently, "It will be obvious enough that you're real, and not a ghost. Besides, Ron and Hermione will know it's you, I can guarantee you that. Come on." Ginny tugged at Harry's hand, pulling him towards the door.

"Ginny!" he protested again. "I don't _want_ to make a—a 'grand entrance' or anything, I just want—"

"To let everyone know you're back," she finished. "And the best way to do that is to get it all over with at once, don't you think?"

"I guess," he said reluctantly, and followed her out of the Room of Requirement and down to the Great Hall.

Ron and Hermione were sitting at the Gryffindor table with Neville, finishing the remnants of the feast. Ron, however, was less focused on his food than on scanning the Great Hall as if he was looking for something.

"Ron," said Hermione quietly, "I'm sure Ginny's okay, she probably just wasn't hungry or something."

Ron scowled at her. "What if she's not okay? I know she's been—"

But his next words were interrupted as the doors to the Great Hall swung open with a loud bang. Dead silence, punctured by a few screams, fell over all the tables, as the students gazed, open-mouthed, at the doorway.

Harry Potter was standing uncertainly in the doorway, scanning the Hall. For several seconds, nobody moved.

And then Hermione leapt to her feet, followed by Ron half a second later, and they were both sprinting across the Hall to where their best friend was standing. Behind them they could hear the babble of voices as every student began to talk at once, and other footsteps as Neville, Luna, and several other old friends from the DA followed.

"Harry!" shrieked Hermione, flinging her arms around him. "You're back! You're alive! Harry, you're _real!" _

Smiling hesitantly, Harry returned her embrace. Moments later Ron began pounding him on the back, saying, "We missed you, mate. We really missed you."

A sea of ecstatic faces was before him, all trying to get at him at once. Neville and Luna, Ernie, Hannah, Justin, all of his old friends still at Hogwarts, were shouting enthusiastic greetings, all trying to hug him and shake his hand. For the first time in ages, he found himself beginning to laugh. It was as though the weights had been lifted from his heart completely. Surrounded by the warm, caring love of his friends, and with Ginny at his side squeezing his hand in a death grip, he felt truly at peace. At last, at long last, he was home.


End file.
